


don't know how to swim (but let's breathe underwater)

by leetheshark



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: (other than victor's usual scarring), Alcohol, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pool Sex, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25165666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark
Summary: After a fight with his parents, Roman invites Victor over to the house.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	don't know how to swim (but let's breathe underwater)

When Victor visits Roman at home, he usually climbs through Roman’s second floor window. Avoiding Roman’s parents and any of their staff is priority number one. But tonight, the grounds are emptier than Victor’s ever seen them. Roman told Victor on the phone that he could come in through the front this time. After parking his run-down car a block away just in case, he stalks up the sidewalk leading to the glass front doors and rings the doorbell. Fortunately, it’s Roman who answers. He must be home alone.

“Victor!” Roman takes Victor by the shoulders and kisses him on the cheek, like he’s been doing ever since he spent those two weeks in Europe a few months ago. (Victor tries not to get too worked up about it. It doesn’t always work.) Then, Roman picks up a glass vase from a small table near the door, weighs it in his hand, and smashes it against the wall.

Oh. So it’s one of those nights.

Victor has been witness to Roman’s temper a good number of times in their year of knowing each other. There was the time Roman tried to stab a bartender with a paring knife he grabbed from behind the bar counter, before security dragged him out (it’s the only bar Victor’s banned from because of something someone _else_ did). There was the time he threw his coffee in the face of a Starbucks barista—luckily for the barista (and for Roman, since his parents didn’t have to find out), the coffee wasn’t hot enough to burn. Victor, on the other hand, was disappointed. Most recently, there was the time he set his parents’ car on fire with Victor’s encouragement (they never did find out it was him; if they did, Roman would have much bigger problems now).

As far as Victor’s concerned, it’s one of Roman’s best qualities. Roman is nothing if not explosive. Victor fucking _loves_ it.

Roman’s so caught up in himself that he doesn’t care to see the difference between smashing an antique vase and smashing all the bones in a person’s hand.

Victor can see the difference. One of them is a lot more fun. One of them actually means something. But watching Roman go off the deep end is one of Victor’s favorite things either way, especially when there are other people around to be afraid.

Now, Roman leads Victor through the house, picking up and smashing whatever strikes his fancy. Vases, busts, framed family photos. At one point, he tries to put his fist through a painting. He leaves a trail of destruction behind him and Victor follows, silent, trusting that Roman will tell him what’s going on when he’s ready.

When they reach the kitchen, Roman opens the glass cabinet and pulls out a short crystal tumbler. He examines it for a second before smashing it against the wall. Victor admires the sharp edges of broken glass while Roman slams a second, identical glass onto the kitchen island. He grabs a bottle of rum from the liquor cabinet, pours a hefty amount, and chugs half of it at once.

“Fuck!” Roman shouts. He slams the glass back down. Liquid sloshes over the sides. “Those fucking fucks!”

Victor leans back against the counter. “What’s wrong?”

“Ugh!” Roman pulls a face, kind of like he’s eaten something sour and kind of like he’s about to start crying. “You remember that loft I had my eye on in the city? Above the nightclub?”

Victor nods. Roman’s been talking about it for weeks.

“They won’t fucking pay for it!”

“Your parents?”

“Yes, my fucking parents!” Roman slams the rest of his drink, then pours himself another shaky glass. “Fuck! I’m twenty-fucking-three! I should have a place of my own by now!”

“You should,” Victor says. He doesn’t point out that Roman could easily get a place in Victor’s part of town with his weekly allowance, probably with at least half to spare.

“I had it picked out and everything! Why can’t they just do what I want?”

“Yeah. They should do what you want.”

“I know!” Roman gestures with his arm, glass still in hand, sloshing alcohol over the tile floor. _“Fuck!”_

Roman downs the rest of his drink, for the second time, before setting his glass down.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, finally.

Victor shrugs. “Sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever.”

Roman pours another glass of rum and slides it across the island. Then, he pours himself a third and heads out into the living room, with Victor following close behind. Roman sets his glass down on the coffee table without a coaster and flops down onto the couch. With his eyes closed, he kicks his bare foot up onto the coffee table to knock a vase filled with water and roses to the floor.

There’s a flat-screen TV high up on the living room wall. There are a lot of things Victor doesn’t know about, and electronics are one of them, but he’s pretty sure that TV is new to the market and that the Sionises might be the only people in Gotham, other than the Waynes, who can afford it.

Victor sits on the other end of the couch.

“You know this isn’t even our main living room?” Roman asks, head tipped over the back of the couch and shut eyes turned toward the ceiling. “This is our private one. God forbid any guests know we watch television.”

Victor chuckles and sips his drink. “So where is everyone?”

“My parents? We were all supposed to go to some fundraiser tonight. I convinced them to let me stay home.”

Victor guesses that ‘convinced’ is only one way to put it, because from the looks of the house, the smashing started long before he arrived.

“And I told all the staff to leave,” Roman says.

“You can do that?”

“Well, I had to pay them off, but yes.”

“Gotcha.” Victor decides to down the rest of his rum, because it’s not like he’s drinking it for the taste. He puts the empty glass down on the coffee table next to Roman’s full one. There, he finds a TV remote on the table. He picks it up, tosses it in the air, and catches it again.

“Oh!” Roman says. “Give me.”

Victor hands it over, and Roman puts on a movie. He forgets about his drink, which Victor is grateful for, because he doesn’t want to deal with a drunk Roman tonight (or ever). Roman’s way more fun when he’s sober. The worst nights are the ones when Roman gets too fucked up to walk and Victor has to get him into his bed without his parents noticing. At least tonight won’t be one of those.

Victor’s never been a movie person. He doesn’t see the appeal of watching something on screen when you could do it yourself if you really wanted, and Victor does almost anything he wants. Still, he doesn’t mind watching one if it keeps Roman happy.

Victor pulls his feet up on the couch and gets comfortable. He’s still wearing his shoes. Roman makes a face but doesn’t say anything; he’s been destroying his parents’ stuff all night, so Victor getting the couch dirty should be small change.

The movie is just getting to what Victor thinks might be the good part, when Roman grabs the remote and shuts it off.

“This is so fucking _boring,”_ he whines. “Everything is so fucking boring! I hate it! Ugh!”

“You wanna go out or something?” Victor asks. Roman drags him to clubs every once in a while; it usually gets Roman’s spirits back up.

“No.” Roman goes limp on the couch, groaning his displeasure. Then, he sits upright, jolted by an idea. “You should show me more of your scars.”

Roman’s known about Victor’s ritual since nearly day one. He noticed the scars on Victor’s face and asked about them with no tact whatsoever, not that Victor minded. Victor explained it in detail one night, over vodka in water bottles in an empty Central Park. Roman and Victor thrive in places like that—public enough to get away from Roman’s parents but private enough that they can talk about anything. Victor rolled up his jacket sleeves to show Roman the scars on his wrists—some from his kills and some from before he found his calling—and he let Roman touch them, even though no one had touched Victor in years.

Roman still hasn’t seen much more than Victor’s face, neck, and arms. Victor didn’t realize he wanted to.

He doesn’t mind that it’s a demand and not a question. Roman’s like that. He tells people what to do and, most of the time, they listen. He’s sheltered, but Victor has no intention of being the one to pop Roman’s bubble. Roman lives in a world of his own and so far, Victor likes being a part of it.

Victor also does it because, well, he wants to. Roman didn’t exactly ask Victor to take off his clothes, but Victor’s never been modest, so he does it anyway. He pulls up his T-shirt over the sparse lines scattered over his stomach, and when Roman doesn’t object, he keeps going, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal the scars crisscrossing over his chest. Showing off always comes with a thrill. Most people are afraid, even if they don’t know what the scars mean. But Roman isn’t afraid; either he’s too self-centered to consider that Victor might hurt him, or he knows truthfully that Victor wouldn’t.

“Hmm.” Roman pulls his legs onto the couch, kneeling so that he can lean over Victor. Without asking, he reaches out to trail fingers across Victor’s collarbone. Victor raises his chin, giving Roman space to touch.

Victor fantasizes about Roman, every once in a while. When he does, it’s about him touching Roman, not Roman touching him. This is nice, though—really nice. Roman puts his hand flat on Victor’s chest and drags it down to feel the raised lines of his skin. Some, he traces with his index finger, pressing firm into each one as he swipes across it. He’s touching Victor how he pleases and looking at Victor like he’s fascinating, and it makes Victor’s blood rush in a way that another human being—that he _wasn’t_ killing—hasn’t done for him in years.

When Roman traces over a scar that crosses Victor’s happy trail, it’s a miracle that Victor manages not to moan. Inches from Roman’s hand, Victor is too hard for Roman not to notice. He wonders if Roman just doesn’t care—if Victor’s body really is just a toy to him, and not that kind—but when he looks into Roman’s lap, he’s pretty sure Roman is hard, too.

“I showed you mine,” Victor says. His voice comes out rougher than he expected. “Time for you to show me yours.”

“I don’t have any scars.”

Victor grins, lopsided. “I just wanna see you.”

Roman tips his head back and barks out a laugh. “Seriously? That’s what you want? How _boring.”_

“Nothing about you’s boring.”

“I thought you were above that.”

Victor looks pointedly into Roman’s lap. “You’re obviously not.”

Roman laughs again. “Hmm. Okay.” He sits up fully and cocks his shoulders back. It’s a challenge and a dare. “Go ahead. Take my shirt off.”

The top two buttons of Roman’s white linen shirt are already undone. Victor starts at the third, brushing Roman’s chest hair with his knuckles where it peeks through the gap. It’s not like Victor is insecure, but well, he knows Roman. So if he fucks up, that’s going to be a problem. Between that, and the way he’s wanted to do this for almost as long as he’s known Roman, his heart is a jackhammer in his still-bare chest. He reaches the last button, revealing a pale and furred stomach, and Roman finishes the job by shrugging out of his shirt. He has more softness to his body than Victor does. Victor can’t decide if he wants to kiss Roman’s stomach or sink his teeth into it.

Before he can think about it for long, Roman takes Victor’s face in both hands. Victor freezes. Roman leans forward and kisses him, warm and sudden, and now, Victor _does_ moan. ‘I thought you were above that.’ What an asshole. Victor smiles; Roman kisses it away. His tongue slips into Victor’s mouth, pushy just like he is, just as his hand slides to the back of Victor’s neck.

The only scar on Victor’s body that didn’t come from his own hand—on purpose—is a chemical burn on the back of his neck from the first time he bleached his hair. It was in a gas station bathroom, running from the police, on the first stop of the trip that led him eventually to Gotham City. He met Roman soon after.

Roman finds the scar, delicate fingertips ghosting over the uniquely textured skin—Roman’s so sensitive everywhere, of course he would notice. “What’s this?”

“’S boring,” Victor says.

Roman shrugs. “’Kay.” He captures Victor’s lips again in a second. Victor guesses Roman trusts him by now to know what Roman would find interesting. He has a pretty good handle on Roman in general.

He still doesn’t expect it when Roman pulls away, with a wide grin on his spit-slick mouth and a sparkle in his eyes, and says, “I just had the best idea.”

“What—” Victor starts to ask, but Roman is already taking off through the house. Of course, Victor gets up and follows.

Roman bursts through the kitchen and back patio and into the backyard, where lanterns cast dim yellow light onto a pool that’s bigger than Victor’s whole apartment. The water is still—there’s no breeze in the oppressive summer night—and blue-tinged from the floor below. Still smiling, Roman backs up to the edge. He strips off the rest of his clothes, unashamed of the now half-hard evidence of his arousal, and spreads his arms at his sides before falling backward into the pool.

The splash almost soaks Victor from where he stands. Roman emerges with wet hair sticking to his face and shouts, “What the fuck, Victor? Come on!”

Victor takes off his shoes, then pulls down his shorts and boxers at once. He at least hopes Roman likes what he sees. Naked and barefooted on the concrete ground, he sprints after Roman and jumps into the pool in a half-cannonball. The cold water shocks his system, and he gasps for air as he bobs to the surface.

Roman is laughing already, which makes Victor smile too. When Victor moves close and leans in for a kiss, Roman dodges it with grace. “You want me?” he asks.

Victor stares at Roman with a knit brow. Of course he does.

“Then catch me.” With a teasing smile, Roman dives into a swim and speeds away.

Victor has never learned to swim, but he’s always been adaptable. He chases after Roman with his own approximation of Roman’s stroke and moves across the pool with predator-like focus. Eventually he catches Roman by the calf, just a graze of fingers across Roman’s skin. Roman takes pity on him. He pulls Victor close and kisses him once before darting away again toward the edge of the pool.

Roman puts his palms on the concrete edge and hoists himself up, sitting on the side of the pool with his legs in the water. The outdoor lights cast him in dim yellow, all wet shining skin and shadows. Droplets of water fall from his hair and travel down his body, over the swell of his breast, down his sternum, over his stomach.

He cocks his shoulders back and spreads his thighs, drawing Victor’s eyes between them. Roman’s fully hard now. It makes arousal crackle through Victor’s body like lightning. He licks his lips.

“Well?” Roman says. “Go ahead.”

Victor makes his way through the water until he’s between Roman’s legs. He starts with his hands on Roman’s soft thighs as he looks up into keen blue-green eyes that, in the dim light, look mostly grey. Then, he takes Roman’s cock in his hand, feeling its weight.

Roman moans softly. It’s almost too quiet for Victor to hear, even in the empty backyard. “Don’t be such a fucking tease, Victor.” Roman already sounds breathy, unable to hide the effect Victor’s having on him. “Use your mouth.”

Victor can’t argue with that. (Well, he can, but he really doesn’t want to.) He bends down and wraps his lips around Roman’s cock, removing his hand so that he can take Roman in all the way. Roman fills his mouth, tasting of pre-come and chlorine from the pool. He fits there perfectly—thick against Victor’s tongue, just barely breaching his throat. Victor rests his hand on Roman’s trembling thigh as he pulls back off to lap at Roman’s tip. He dives right back down, nosing at Roman’s happy trail as he goes.

“Ugh, fuck…” Roman’s voice is rough. His hand moves over the soft fuzz of Victor’s hair before settling over the back of Victor’s neck. He doesn’t hold Victor down, but Victor wouldn’t mind it if he did. He’ll have to ask Roman later. Next time. If there is one.

Victor pulls off with a pop. He wraps one hand around Roman and one around himself, stroking himself under the water. When he looks up at Roman’s face, Roman’s half-lidded eyes stare at Victor’s spit-slick mouth. His lips tremble, the bottom one raw as if he’s bitten it. The flush of his heaving chest is barely visible in the dim light. Victor strokes Roman’s cock until Roman’s eyes slip shut and his face screws up, then fits his mouth around Roman once more.

Roman’s whole body jolts as he twitches between Victor’s lips. When sharp fingernails dig into Victor’s neck, Victor can’t help but moan. Roman shudders out his climax, babbling ‘Victor’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘fuck me’ over and over, thrusting shallowly into Victor’s mouth until he’s coming on Victor’s tongue. Victor savors the taste in case there is no next time and pumps himself with as much speed as he can pick up underwater. He finishes with a strangled moan, then drools come and spit into the pool as he catches his breath.

Roman stares at Victor with a horrified look. “Did you just _come_ in the _pool?”_

“Uh, yeah.”

Roman shudders, even as a smile breaks across his face. “Hah! Gross! Come on.” He takes Victor’s hand and tugs Victor out of the pool. “Let’s take a shower.”

Victor scrapes his knees on the edge of the pool as he stumbles to his feet. Roman lets go of Victor’s hand but doesn’t turn back, so Victor follows him as he jogs back into the house. They bound through the kitchen and living room, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood floor, and then up the stairs. Following just a few feet behind Roman, the stairs put Victor at eye-level with Roman’s ass, and he takes the opportunity to stare.

Roman takes Victor’s hand again. He drags Victor through the hallway and into a bedroom that Victor’s never been in before. It’s bigger than Roman’s room, and the dresser is covered in framed photos of a couple that Victor’s never met but hates anyway, just because Roman does. Roman takes Victor into the attached bathroom, leaves the door wide open, and starts the shower.

“Any reason we’re in your parents’ room?” Victor asks.

“The shower’s bigger. Besides, fuck them.” Once Roman’s satisfied with the temperature, he pulls back the sliding frosted glass door and steps inside, yanking Victor with him. When Victor stumbles forward, Roman steals a kiss. It only lasts a second. “Ew! Go use mouthwash.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes!”

Victor rolls his eyes and gets out of the shower. Newly dripping wet, he scours the countertop around the sink and doesn’t see any mouthwash, so he checks the medicine cabinet. Still no mouthwash. “Where is it?”

“Well I don’t fucking know!”

Victor sighs. He crouches to the floor to check the cabinet underneath the sink and finally finds a bottle of Scope. He takes a swig straight from the bottle—because like Roman said, fuck his parents—and gargles it for longer than he probably needs to before spitting it into the sink.

When Victor steps back into the shower, Roman gives him an experimental kiss. “Better.”

Victor shouldn’t feel so scrutinized when it was Roman’s dick in his mouth in the first place. Still, when Roman kisses him again, all of that melts away. Roman’s hands go to Victor’s hips, then drag up the scars crossing his sides like tiger-stripes, just as Roman’s tongue slips into his mouth. The noise Roman makes is sweet—a soft, high-pitched whine. Victor palms Roman’s ass with both hands, because the need to touch him there has been growing ever since he ogled Roman on the stairs, and when he pulls Roman’s hips close he can feel the beginnings of Roman’s renewed erection. Roman tilts his head to kiss Victor more deeply. He brings a hand to Victor’s front, curling fingers around Victor’s soft cock.

“Roman,” Victor says, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “Need a few more minutes.”

“Fine,” Roman sighs, petulant, as if Victor has a choice. He withdraws his hand to grab a bottle of body wash from the shelf. “Here’s an idea. Wash me.”

“What? Why?”

“Will that help you get it up?”

Victor takes the bottle, because yeah, it might. Besides, it’s not like he’d turn down the opportunity to touch Roman’s body. He can tell it’s some kind of power play; he also doesn’t care. He pops the bottle open with one hand and pours a good amount of body wash into his palm, then sets the bottle on the shelf closest to him so he can lather the soap between his hands.

Victor starts with Roman’s shoulders. He massages them until Roman’s eyes slip closed, then slides his soapy hands down to Roman’s chest, which he kneads with both hands. Soapy water runs in rivulets through Roman’s chest hair, following his happy trail down to a cock that grows harder by the second. Victor slides his hands down Roman’s stomach as he lowers himself to his knees. He wants Roman back in his mouth desperately, but he doesn’t want Roman to kick him out of the shower to use the mouthwash again, so he settles for nosing at the underside as he massages body wash into Roman’s thighs. Above him, Roman groans softly. Victor finishes Roman’s legs, playing fingers down soft calves, and climbs to his feet.

He only catches a glimpse of Roman’s smug smile before Roman turns around. “Come on,” Roman says. “You’re only halfway done.”

Licking his lips, Victor soaps up Roman’s upper back. He runs his hands over the smooth, freckled skin and the muscle underneath. His hands slide down to Roman’s lower back, then grip Roman’s hips for balance while he drops again to his knees. He takes advantage of the position by grabbing Roman’s ass with both hands. Roman’s gasp is barely audible under the pattering of the shower. Fully expecting Roman to yell at him if he oversteps, Victor slips his thumbs in between Roman’s ass cheeks and nudges them apart.

“If you use your mouth,” Roman says, “you can expect not to kiss me for the rest of the night.”

Victor doesn’t need any more convincing. He uses his thumb instead, swiping it over Roman to feel Roman’s body react to the touch. “That feel good?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Roman tips his head back, stretching his neck. Only then does Victor realize that Roman’s stroking himself.

Victor—adaptable as he is—slicks up his hand with body wash. He rubs his thumb over Roman again, and just as he’s about to press it inside, Roman says, “There’s lube in the bedroom. If you want to.”

“I want to.” Though it’s the least of his priorities right now, Victor can’t help but wonder, “How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That there’s lube in the bedroom. You fucked anyone in your parents’ bed before?”

“Hm. Not exactly.”

Victor doesn’t press the subject. He has too many bizarre proclivities of his own to begrudge Roman his weird shit. He washes away the soap and, even though he intends to finish washing Roman’s legs, Roman loses interest in whatever game they’re playing and shuts the water off. He drags Victor off the floor and out of the shower, where he grabs two fluffy white towels from the cabinet, tosses one at Victor, and quickly dries off with the other. Before Victor knows it, Roman is sprinting back into the bedroom, so he dries himself off and follows.

Victor tumbles into bed on top of Roman. Roman kisses him briefly before pushing him off by the shoulders. It’s only so that Roman can roll onto his stomach. “Second drawer of the nightstand,” he says. He grabs a pillow and places it under his hips, then pulls a second one close to rest his head.

Victor leans over Roman to pull open the drawer. There’s a tube of K-Y and a couple boxes of Trojans. “Your parents use condoms?”

“Apparently. At least it’s good to know there won’t be a kid running around the house anytime soon. Then again, if they had another one, maybe they wouldn’t fuck it up this time.”

“Hey. If you’re fucked up, I’m fucked up.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.” Roman rubs his face into the pillow. “Ugh! I hate them so fucking much. I’m gonna be stuck in this house for the rest of my life.”

“Move in with me,” Victor says.

“Ew. No.”

Victor grins to himself as he climbs in between Roman’s spread legs. He didn’t expect anything different. After setting the lube down in the sheets, Victor puts his hands flat on Roman’s back and slides them up to Roman’s shoulders—visibly tense from the reminder of his parents and still shower-damp—to try and massage the pain away. Roman melts again into the bed. “There you go,” Victor coos, sliding his hands back down to Roman’s ass. Roman makes a soft, wordless noise. Victor gropes him with both hands once more before lubing up the thumb he used in the shower. He massages it over Roman in circles, gauging Roman’s reaction in the soft noises he sighs into the pillow. When he pushes inside, Roman gasps.

Roman told Victor not to ask stupid questions—so he hopes this one doesn’t count. “Good?”

“Yes,” Roman bites. Victor swivels the tip of his thumb around the hot tightness inside. They didn’t talk about whether Victor’s going to get to really fuck Roman, but Roman feels so good like this that Victor doesn’t even care. Roman swears softly, so Victor takes it as a good sign and keeps pushing. Once down to the base of his thumb, he pauses to let Roman adjust.

“Hey, Roman?” It’s probably not the best time to try and have a serious conversation, with Roman’s ass clenched around his thumb and all, but Victor needs to know. “Are you only fucking me to get back at your parents?”

“Of course not.” Roman wiggles around, getting comfortable. “I’m fucking you because I like you. I’m doing it _here_ to get back at my parents.”

Victor’s fine with that answer.

“Speaking of—are you hard yet?”

“Yeah,” Victor says.

“And you’re not in me _why?”_

With suddenly hitched breath, Victor withdraws his thumb and wipes the lube off on the sheets. “You want me to use a condom?”

“Do you have any STDs?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then yes. Obviously. Shit.”

Victor stretches over Roman to grab one of the boxes from the nightstand. They’re the extra thin kind, which seems fine. Victor’s not an expert. Once he’s ready—with Roman shifting around impatiently the whole time—Victor takes a handful of Roman’s hip, guides himself toward Roman’s opening, and pushes inside. He drops his forehead against Roman’s back as a moan rips from his throat.

“Fuck,” Roman hisses.

“You wanna stop?”

“No. Fuck no.”

It’s good news, because Victor doesn’t want to stop either—Roman feels so fucking good that Victor has no idea how he’s going to last more than a minute. Victor’s done this a few other times before, but something about Roman—his body or his attitude or even just the way Victor’s been obsessed with him pretty much since they met—makes it feel new. Victor fucks Roman with his fingers dug hard into Roman’s hips. Roman whines and curses and doesn’t quiet for a second.

Roman comes first, with one hand on his cock and the other stretched behind him to grasp ineffectively at Victor’s hair. Victor holds on just long enough for Roman to finish, crashing over the edge with fingernails clawing into Roman’s hips and teeth sunk into Roman’s shoulder. It leaves Roman yelping and Victor gasping for breath.

Once recovered, Victor peels himself slowly off of Roman’s back. Roman shifts and grumbles beneath him, probably about the teeth. Victor’s too fucked-out to listen. He ties off the condom and tosses it into the trashcan by the bed, and when he flops back down, he’s immediately swept up by Roman’s arms.

“Take a nap with me,” Roman says, nuzzling into the back of Victor’s neck.

After two rounds, the idea sounds appealing. “When are your parents gonna be home?”

“I don’t know. I don’t _care.”_

“So what do we do if they get back?”

“You can climb out the window.”

“My clothes are downstairs.”

“You’ll figure something out.”

Roman’s not wrong. Victor keeps a change of clothes in his car a block away. There’s greenery along the road and barely any other houses, so he can probably manage to get there without being spotted. Even if he is spotted, so what? It still wouldn’t be ideal, but the more he sinks into the softness of Roman’s body, the less Victor wants to get up. With soft puffs of air against the back of Victor’s neck, Roman starts to snore. Whether Victor escapes in time or Roman’s parents see him, he doesn’t really care. It’s not his problem. He glances at the clock on the nightstand, which tells him it’s just past midnight, and falls asleep in Roman’s arms without worrying about what will come next.

**Author's Note:**

> named after and inspired by [fake mona lisa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csMWGlEsgeg) by carly rae jepsen 💕


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